“We realize that,” said Penny, “but it would be a satisfaction to keep looking.”
“If the dog was still alive, it hain’t likely he’d of swum away from the island.”
“He could have been carried,” Penny said, keeping her voice low.
The swamper stared steadily at her a moment, saying nothing.
“Besides, we’d like to go deeper into the swamp just to see it,” Penny urged, sensing that he was hesitating. “It must be beautiful farther in.”
“It is purty,” the old guide agreed. “But you have to be mighty keerful.”
“Do take us,” Louise pleaded.
The old trapper raised his eyes to watch a giant crane, and then slowly turned the skiff. As he sought a sluggish channel leading deeper into the swamp, Penny noticed that Coon Hawkins had shifted his position on the point, the better to watch them.
The skiff moved on into gloomy water deeply shadowed by overhanging tree limbs. Only then did Penny ask the trapper what he thought really had happened to Louise’s dog.
“’Tain’t easy to say,” he replied, resting on the paddle a moment and taking a chew of tobacco.